Retribution (An Assassin's Creed III story)

Remembrance

A/N: Hi there! I know some of you may not want to spend so much time reading and just get to the crux of the story, so I cut out these chapters from my original draft. These bonus chapters basically exist to give you a little more insight into the characters' personality. So...here's a short first one!

Naomi sat on her bed, running a hairbrush through her brown curls repeatedly while the pale sunlight warmed her body. She suspected the sheets beneath her had probably not been changed in years, and she did not have the time—nor the strength—to do so yesterday, before she picked a room at random and threw herself on the bed. She did not speak another word to Achilles, and pretended to have fallen asleep. She was vaguely aware of Achilles sighing softly, before placing a glass of water on her nightstand and shutting her door.

Naomi found that trying to fall asleep was not only a waste of time but an agony. Images of her mother—a skeleton wrapped in skin with bulging, bloodshot eyes—seemed to be engraved on the back of her eyelids, and she saw them every time she shut her eyes. And when she lay on her back to stare at the ceiling, she saw her father falling to the ground, coughing up blood while a patch of scarlet grew from his heart until his whole body was covered in it.

So Naomi decided to get up and survey her room, in hope that this would distract her mind and relieve the crushing sorrow. It didn't. It did, however, lead to her success in finding some worn, men's garments in the wardrobe, a quill and parchment in the desk drawer and the hairbrush she was currently running through her shoulder-length curls.

Naomi then heard the thudding of Achilles' walking stick, followed by two knocks on her door.

"Come in."

"There's some food downstairs, if you're hungry." Achilles limped into the room, clutching some clothes in his hands—a clean shirt and faded brown trousers, which he placed at the foot of the bed. "These are the smallest I can find."

"Thank you, Mr Davenport," Naomi replied. Mother would be proud I haven't forgotten my manners, she mused darkly.

She heard a loud creak, and realized Achilles had settled into a chair by her nightstand. "I know you don't trust me, Naomi," he began, and sighed, clearly struggling to find the words that no four-year old should ever have to hear. "And I don't expect you to, at least for a while. But I'd like to ask for a chance to earn that trust." Naomi met his eyes then, and saw that they gleamed with an emotion she could not quite place. "For a start, I'll answer any questions you have, and I know you have many."

"How did Papa die?" The words escaped her lips before she knew it. Who killed him? was what she'd meant, and somehow Achilles knew.

"He died fighting Shay Cormac." If Achilles' voice before was painful, his voice now was agony. "Shay was— "

"Papa's best friend, I know," Naomi interjected, suddenly feeling an urge to rip the musty sheets beneath her. "Papa used to say that I would have an 'Uncle Shay' if they were still friends."

Achilles sighed sadly. "Your father died an honorable death, Naomi— "

"Unlike my mother." Naomi did not know when she had become so rude as to interrupt an adult, twice, for that matter. The boiling anger that she felt for her mother, threatening to burst from her chest, was also foreign.

"I do not disagree that what Madeleine did was dishonorable." Achilles continued calmly, though it cost him a great deal of effort. "But she loves you, Naomi; you must not think otherwise."

"Then why did she leave?" Naomi asked, and felt the burn in her throat as she swallowed back tears. It was less a question than a desperate cry for something, anything, to hold on to.

"Your mother loves you, but—she made a mistake. Her grief was too much for her to bear, and she searched for something to take away the pain—she did not know that the drug would take away her life.

"Do not choose to remember your mother for her mistake, Naomi." Achilles' voice had fallen to a whisper. "Remember the love she has shown you."

Naomi wanted to snap at Achilles and tell him that she did not get to choose what to remember and what not to. But she found that she lacked the strength to do so, as if merely thinking about her mother could drain all the energy from her body.

"I don't want to talk about her," she said instead. She hugged her knees to her chest and looked away from Achilles, indicating that the conversation was over.

"Alright," Achilles said, then got to his feet. "Perhaps you'd prefer to talk about weapons? There's a beautiful dagger in the training room which is particularly rare..."

Later, Naomi would remember the crinkle at the edges of Achilles' eyes as he smiled at her. She would remember taking Achilles' hand as he led her to the training room, after she pushed away thoughts of her deceased parents. She would remember the weight of different weapons in her hands, the bruises she got from learning how to climb and fall, and running until her chest felt like exploding.

She did not want to remember her mother screaming for her father, or the final gasping sound she made before she died. But she did, nonetheless.